


It's My Forte

by moboe



Series: The Forte!verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Orchestra!AU, Tumblr Prompt, band kid!dean, band!au, bassist!Sam, cellist!Cas, drummer!Dean, high school!au, orchestra kid!cas, some language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3246011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moboe/pseuds/moboe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is the weird cello prodigy that gets every solo in the school orchestra. Dean is a cocky mediocre snare drum player, but he still manages to pick out every flaw in Cas' performances. When Castiel has had enough of it, he says something. Fluff ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's My Forte

**Author's Note:**

> I got this prompt from es-quid-amas-non-qui-amat-te.tumblr.com! She asked for a High School!AU with Dean as a stuck-up band kid and Castiel as a weird orchestra kid. I hope she likes it ;)

Castiel loved his cello. He’d named her Esther, and he practiced playing her with any free time he had. He’d been playing since he could grasp a bow, and over the years had become somewhat of a prodigy. He didn’t feel like one, though, and he didn’t really like being called one, either. It wasn’t that he picked up the ability to play quickly, or that he’d had some kind of magical ability to read music before anyone had taught him, but instead because after so many years of hard work at it, it just came naturally. He was in the top orchestra class, and as a junior, he’d already been accepted into Julliard with a full ride. So maybe he was a bit of a prodigy, but he was a little loathe to admit it.

 

He had solos during every concert and was very dedicated to the music he performed. He was proud of what he’d become, because he’d managed to exceed his parents’ expectations of him, which wasn’t something very easy to do. The only thing that sometimes tripped him up was a certain cocky drummer in the intermediate band. Orchestra and band concerts were often on the same days, one right after the other, orchestra always coming first. And after every single performance, Dean Winchester, with his stupid green eyes and stupid freckles, would nitpick his solo until it appeared to be nothing but a kindergartener’s first try at an instrument.

 

“Measure 213 was supposed to be an F sharp,” he’d mutter as Castiel passed, and the cellist would grasp Esther just a little tighter, repeating silently to himself that it would do him no good to beat Dean over the head with her.

 

“There was a lot less vibrato in that then I thought there should be.” “You know, _usually_ I would describe a cello’s sound as rich and beautiful.” “Your posture could serve for some tweaking.”

 

 _Calm down, Castiel,_ he would tell himself. He would take a deep breath and keep walking.

 

Castiel never responded, and he wondered if that was the reason that the drummer would even say any of those things in the first place. Sometimes he would catch the boy staring intently at him during practice or dress rehearsals, but Dean never looked away, just stuck his tongue out and made Castiel mess up whatever measure he was on.

 

One would think a prodigy would more easily deflect a distraction. But there was just something about Dean… No matter how annoying the band member was, he was incredibly attractive. And when his tongue poked out from between his lips, it was hard for Castiel to think about anything but what it might feel like to have that tongue between his own lips. And… other places. But that was beside the point. He would never get Dean Winchester, and he shouldn’t even have wanted him in the first place.

 

Which brought him to where he was right now, auditioning for yet another solo that he knew he would land, Dean Winchester in the audience, staring at him with rapt attention. He shouldn’t have even been there! Drummers didn’t get solos. And the intensity of his stare was throwing Castiel off. Still, as it was, he managed to get through without any mistakes – to his knowledge – and he stood and bowed, most of the audience clapping. All but Dean.

 

He walked backstage and put Esther in her case, hauling her over his back and making his way through the small room backstage, down the stairs, and out of the auditorium. He wanted to avoid Dean. He couldn’t hear another criticism, not today. But just as he was close enough to touch the doors – the exit to the school, he heard a very familiar voice call out, “You would make a Ms. du Pré very disappointed.”

 

Castiel clenched his teeth and curled his fingers into fists, closing his eyes and counting to ten. When he’d managed to take a deep breath, he turned, cheeks stained red with a flush and blue eyes flashing with anger. For the first time, he was going to respond, and Dean seemed very taken aback by it. “May I ask you what your problem with me is?” he asked, voice low and growling.

 

If Castiel hadn’t known better, he would have said he’d seen Dean shiver. “N-no problem,” he responded, and hearing such a weak tone come from someone who had been so confident only a moment ago spun Castiel’s head until he was dizzy.

 

“No problem?” Castiel repeated, narrowing his eyes and taking a step forward, but really lessening no distance between them since Dean took a step back. “If you have ‘no problem’ with me,” he continued, using the air quotes where it was appropriate, “then why do you rudely critique every single solo I perform?”

 

Dean blinked, and it was his turn to flush. “I just, I mean – I think everyone deserves a little criticism.”

 

“And I wholly agree,” Castiel replied. “But I spend every second of my free time playing my cello. I work harder than anyone in the top orchestra, much less your _intermediate_ band. You so easily pick out every single one of my flaws, as if I don’t see them myself, and readily throw them down in front of me.  It is rude, unnecessary, and hurtful. I have never once said something so spiteful to you, and I don’t understand your aversion to me, or to the orchestra in general.” He ended, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring profusely in Dean’s direction. He would have said something about Dean being tone-deaf, and that being the only reason he played the snare drum rather than something that made real music, but that wouldn’t have been in the least bit factual.

 

 _Measure 213 was supposed to be an F sharp,_ his mind supplied, but he ignored it.

 

“Cas,” Dean choked out, and Castiel just shook his head, turning on his heel and storming out of the school, not bothering to notice that Dean had called him ‘Cas’ until later that night, when he played an F sharp.

 

***

 

Dean caught Castiel just out of third period. It was Castiel’s lunch hour, but obviously not Dean’s, if the way he kept glancing at the clock said anything.

 

“Cas!” he shouted, and Castiel took a deep breath, turning away from Kevin (another cellist, in a lower orchestra than him) and giving Dean a glare. This significantly slowed Dean’s pace toward him—whereas he’d been running before, now he was walking.

 

“Excuse me, Kevin. I’ll meet up with you at the table.” Kevin gave a quick nod and moved away, into the cafeteria. Castiel stood completely still as Dean continued to approach him.

 

“Cas,” he breathed once he was finally within Castiel’s personal space. The boy in question quirked an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, the perfect reflection of how he’d been the night before when Dean had cornered him.

 

“What do you want?” he asked, trying to keep venom out of his voice, despite the fact that he could feel it on the tip of his tongue.

 

“Listen, I…” He wet his lips, and Castiel’s traitorous eyes followed the movement. Thankfully, Dean seemed too preoccupied by what he was trying to say to notice. “I talked to my brother.”

 

Castiel narrowed his eyes and cut his gaze over to the lockers in confusion, moving to look back over to Dean. “That’s… good for you, Dean. You two must have a very strong relationship.” He pressed his lips into a thin line and began turning.

 

“Wait!” he said again, reaching out and taking Castiel’s arm, pulling him back. Castiel turned and looked at him, brows pinched together, ready to say something when Dean continued. “He’s in your orchestra. Sam Winchester.”

 

Really, Castiel started to question his intelligence. How hadn’t he made the connection before? Sam Winchester was only a freshman, but had already made it into the concert orchestra, and Castiel supposed he’d thought about the coincidence before, but the Winchester brothers bared no resemblance—through looks or actions. Sam was much more refined, and when he played the bass, it was with sure fingers and strokes, whereas from what Castiel had noticed, Dean pounded on his drum and constantly glanced toward the conductor to make sure he was doing the right thing.

 

“Oh,” he muttered, and his posture relaxed. After all, even though Dean made harsh comments that left Castiel stinging for days afterwards, he couldn’t be _that_ bad. He was Sam Winchester’s brother.

 

“Yeah, I… I talked to him about what you said.”

 

Castiel’s lips pressed into a thin line, shame written all over his face. He had been rude the night before, and he was sure that Dean’s brother had a very different opinion of him now. “Oh?”

 

Dean cleared his throat. “Mmhm. And he… He agrees with you.”

 

It took a few moments for the words to reach his ears. Sam _agreed?_ Castiel had been absolutely dreadful to Dean, but Sam was taking _his_ side? “He does?” Castiel asked, hope fluttering in his chest like the skip of his heartbeat.

 

Dean laughed a little. “Yeah. And I do, too. I tried to explain last night, but… You ran off before I had the chance. Which I don’t blame you for, I mean. I was a complete asshole to you.”

 

Castiel didn’t say anything, despite the fact that a heavy pause rested between them. Dean _had_ been an asshole, Castiel wasn’t going to deny it to make him feel better.

 

“Uh, anyway. The thing is, the reason I say all that stuff is… uh, because I’m jealous.”

 

Castiel aimed his gaze at Dean, surprised to see him looking resolutely at the ground, a deep chagrin coloring his cheeks and the tops of his ears. “Jealous?” he repeated, voice incredulous.

 

“Yeah, _jealous._ I mean, come on. You’re an incredibly talented musician. And I’m just… me.” He shrugged. “So every time you played, I would listen as hard as possible for every mistake I could pick out, because I had to reassure myself that you weren’t _actually_ perfect. And for a while I kept it to myself, but you just seemed so sure of yourself, I had to let you know. I had to say it out loud, like maybe if you acknowledged the mistakes, too, I wouldn’t seem like such an idiot for hearing them.

 

“I didn’t know you worked so hard. I thought that it just came to you, you know? If I worked so hard on something and someone kept pointing out my flaws, I’d probably blow up on them, too. Except there might be a bit more fists and… Anyway.”

 

Castiel was left with his mouth open. He had _not_ expected that. Dean thought he was good? He actually had to listen as hard as he could to hear the mistakes? Good.

 

“Look, you play really beautifully. And I know that I’ve been missing out by trying to focus on your mistakes, because I used to lose myself in your solos before I made it my goal to find what was wrong with them.  Which, really, is nothing. Those things that I pick out, they don’t even matter. Most times, your mistakes make the song sound better.”  Dean huffed out a laugh and chanced a look up at Castiel. “And, um, I know that I’m band and you’re orchestra, and you’re a prodigy and I’m just… uh, me, but I was wondering if you’d want to hang out some time?”

 

There was a long silence where Castiel had to ( _ha, ha)_ compose himself. He took in a deep breath and let it out. Dean’s green eyes were shining with sincerity, and his freckles stood out so much darker when his cheeks were flushed like that. When Castiel finally spoke, it was stilted and breathy, as opposed to his usually confident, gravel tone. “Yeah,” he breathed. He shook himself and began again. “I mean, I’ve always… I thought we could be… _Something._ But then you started making those comments, and…”

 

“Yeah,” Dean replied, sheepish again. “I know. I fucked it up, didn’t I?”

 

“No,” Castiel amended. “You would have if not for that apology, but… I understand.” He smiled, for the first time in front of Dean in… _ever._ “Playing the cello is… my _forte—_ ”

 

“That was really bad.”

 

“—but there are other things I’m not so good at. I don’t really have social skills, and I can’t read expressions so well, and—all I’m saying is that I understand your envy. And while the way that you handled it was rather mean spirited, I think you’ve come to term with the error of your ways, and you won’t do it again.”

 

Dean grinned, and it was brilliant. They exchanged numbers, and later made plans to hang out over the weekend. Castiel was actually rather happy about it.

 

***

 

Castiel got the solo, to the surprise of no one. And when he performed it, Dean found him backstage and grinned. “That was amazing,” he murmured, trying not to be heard by the audience just around the corner.

 

“That means a lot, coming from you,” Castiel responded, voice just as hushed, and he leaned forward, planting a kiss on the corner of Dean’s mouth. 


End file.
